


i don't wanna be your friend i wanna kiss your neck

by thedeathofhyacinth



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: 5 Seconds of Summer - Freeform, 5 Times Fic, Canon Compliant, Clemmings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Feminisation Kink, M/M, NSFW, Timeline Span, giftfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 07:15:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1596224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeathofhyacinth/pseuds/thedeathofhyacinth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or,<br/>5 Times Luke Almost Caught Onto Michael's Feminisation Kink And The 1 Time He Did</p><p>GiftFic for loafers! She's the best of the best and I'm so thankful for her!</p>
            </blockquote>





	i don't wanna be your friend i wanna kiss your neck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loafers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loafers/gifts).



> So this is my first published 5SOS fic! It's a gift to the beautiful Nina, who is the first friend I've made in the Fam! We bonded over fem kink so I thought a gift was in order. ;)
> 
> This is also on tumblr [here](http://thedeathofhyacinth.tumblr.com/post/84937095137/so-this-is-my-first-published-5sos-fic-its). 
> 
> I'm still getting my legs with everything so this is a little shaky. I took a shitton of liberties as well, haha. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy all the same!

**o1.** Luke is still unfamiliar with Michael's house. Like, he knows where Michael's room is and he knows where the bathroom is and he knows where the dining room is [only because they record there when Michael's parents aren't home- awesome acoustics and all]. But he still gets lost sometimes because the layout of his friend's house is mad. There's like, this giant circle of kitchen and rec room and dining room and off-shoots of extra bedrooms all with the stairs right in the centre and who can blame him when he gets turned around, really?

The second time he pokes his head into the wrong room [he was told to grab the percussion shaker in "the spare bedroom"], he gets frustrated and gives up. He checks his phone for the time; he's a little early, but his dad said curfew was 8pm sharp so he's going to make the most of this practice session with Michael. Calum had to stay after for soccer or something, so it's just the two of them on a fun-filled Tuesday evening.

But Luke enjoys the alone time he gets with Michael. They're still tentative around one another [and Luke still makes 500% sure his hair game is on-point], still in the beginning stages of friendship. He, personally, never thought Michael would _ever_ want to be friends with him after Year 9. The shit they talked about one another was vicious. But he fondly recalls the day Michael caught him after school and shyly said, "I saw your videos and uh, I think you're really talented. Calum plays guitar and so do I, so maybe we can jam sometime?"

[Luke knows Calum nudged him into it, but he feigns ignorance because of the end result.]

Their feud was over after that olive branch and he, Calum, and Michael had been practically inseperable since. They mostly met up at Michael's house- his parents didn't mind to have rambunctious teenage boys over [Luke suspected his parents were just glad that he'd come out of hiding and made friends]. They never yelled at them to keep it down and sometimes Luke'll catch Michael's dad smiling fondly when they hit a particularly bad clunker.

At most, they've asked the boys to take it out back- to a lofty apartment above the garage where Michael's grandmother once lived. The three of them spend the weekends out there anyway, so really, it's their preferred spot.

He decides the percussion shaker isn't important at all- they can make due without- and he heads out to the apartment. His guitar is heavy on his back, a reminder of his passion and purpose. He and Michael sound so good together, it's unbelievable. Just the two of them could get signed no problem. Michael's range complements his own baritone- he could talk about their harmonics all day. The way their voices sound similar, Michael's softer and sweeter and working perfect with his still-squeaky, still-unsure voice. [Not to leave Calum out of the equation- Luke is enamoured with his talent as well. Their cover of Give Me Love still gives him shivers. But there's something about Michael that's... different.]

Maybe it's their exploratory passion- how both want to impress the other, but don't want to overshadow. Don't want to aggro each other by taking too much of a lead. Even just jamming or practising, they yield to one another. Michael's shy smiles give him butterflies.

As he steps into the apartment, he calls out a "hey!" He doesn't see Michael, but his text had said to come back to the loft once he found the shaker. Luke sets his guitar down, takes off his thongs before he gets to the carpet, looks around. The kitchen and living room are open- the only things sectioned off are the bedroom and bathroom.

It's weird that Michael isn't in front of the TV, controller in hand. [If one of them gets frustrated, they play a round or two of FIFA to chill and then come back to it- usually Michael is already warming up when Luke arrives.] Luke thinks quick- maybe he had to pee! They _always_ play pranks on one another when one pisses. Michael accidentally set Calum's mum's _good towels_ on fire one time by spraying a deoderant can through a lighter underneath the bathroom door. It was equally hilarious and horrific. [That pretty much stopped their time at Calum's, too.]

So Luke seizes the opportunity to fuck with his friend. As quiet as he can be, he sneaks up to the door. He can see the light on around the outline of the door. Not open, but not locked. Good.

His plan is to rush in and shove Michael as hard as he can- causing him to piss all over the walls and toilet. It's easily his favourite thing to do. Calum once fell face-first into the back of the toilet and busted his nose. They spent half an hour cleaning pee AND blood off of the floor.

Calum punched Luke in the dick for that one. [Well-deserved, really.]

But as he bursts though the door, eyes where he just _knows_ Michael will be standing, he stops short. Michael's sitting on the edge of the bathtub, calves lathered up, mouth agape as they just stare at one another. Michael clutches the razor in his hand, whispering a deadly, "get out."

They never talk about it again.  
  
**o2.** "You'd make a hot chick."

Luke watches as Michael's face blossoms pink, as he tries to hide behind his cell phone. Michael's not one to get embarrassed around them- not now, anyway. But Luke decides not to leave him hanging on alone, so he pipes in a, "Yeah, the prettiest. Much better than Ashton."

"Fuck you!" Ashton practically screeches, throwing one of Michael's stuffed Pinkie Pies in his general direction. "I have _curls_. And _dimples_. I'd totally be the babest babe out of us all."

As Ashton and Calum decide to have an argument over whether Ashton's award-winning smile or Calum's perfect lips would make them hotter as girls, Luke cuddles against Michael's side. Secretly, he _really_ thinks Mikey would be the most gorgeous girl. He gets a fleeting image of a sultry smirk, long fingernails, of sundresses and combat boots. Michael's hair is still dark [he's been talking about bleaching it and going white recently, but so far, Luke's been able to convince him to wait], starting to curl at the ends when he doesn't bother to straighten it. If his hair was longer, he'd have those effortless, beachy waves. [Luke could run his fingers through it, tucking a strand behind her ear, watch as she gives him a playful side-eyed glare.]

Luke's already been taken with Michael's aesthetic for years so just imagining him with a nice pair of tits and silky panties makes him shift uncomfortably. Michael's skin would look excellent in black lace and nope, no, he is _not_ thinking about this right now.

They've gotten past the awkward stage of being friends [after a little hiccup of jealousy when Ashton joined them]. They cuddle and compliment one another without reluctance, most of the time just content with spending the day cooped up in a room somewhere. He spends the majority of his time in the small bedroom upstairs, sharing headphones and laughter and time.

Michael will curl up with his DS, endlessly plugging hours into one game or another, while Luke thumbs at his phone, scrolling through twitter or looking up books to take on tour with them. Occasionally, Michael will lay his head in Luke's lap as he does homework, humming softly.

Those are Luke's favourite nights.

"Is this conversation almost over?" Michael utters, bored tone evident through the edge in his voice. He's brought his knees up, hands resolutely in his lap. Luke feels the vibration of nervous toe tapping throughout his own body.

"We're gonna be stuck together for _months_. Have to keep ourselves entertained!" Calum takes a lazy sip of his drink, shrugging as if talking about your bandmates as girls is the most logical thing to discuss.

Ashton chimes in, "I've heard that like, really serious athletes take a vow of celibacy the entire competitive season."

"Dunno if I could do that," Calum pouts, even though currently none of them are even getting any. But the prospect of being on tour, being away from the mundane tasks of every day living has laid out this golden street for them. Luke is assured he's not the only one thinking of long nights and fit girls and sneaking into bars. [Almost sixteen and yes, this is where his mind goes.]

"But see, that's why we have to figure out which one of us would be the prettiest- if we can't get a _real_ girl, at least we'd have each other! I'm sure that we could find a bra and panties; it won't be any different than fucking an _actual_ girl," Ashton cackles like he's just said the most remarkable thing and his laughter is contagious [when is it not?]. Luke chimes in that his hand gets boring, nudges Michael in the ribs because he's not laughing.

Michael gives him a pained look, a hint of anger lying in his gaze and Luke backs off. But when Michael abruptly shoves himself up, stomping his way downstairs, Luke can't just sit around. [The thing about Michael's anger is that it swallows him up quickly. He can tread for a while, keeping it at bay, but when it becomes overwhelming, he's powerless to fight it. He feels emotions deeper than Luke, deeper than all of them. Curse of the Scorpios.]

Luke takes the stairs down two at a time, trying to catch up. His legs are still growing, but he's already taller than Michael by a good few inches so it doesn't take much to see him ducking around the corner into the kitchen.

"Michael," Luke calls, reaching out for that little space where Michael's waist dips in. "Talk to me, what's up?"

"You think it's funny? Making jokes about fucking girls and fucking one of us and _bras_ and _panties_. It's not a _joke_ it's-" Michael's voice breaks and he tries to cough to cover it but Luke knows. Luke always knows. Luke can read minds.

"C'mere, Mikey, shhh," he tries to coddle, turning Michael around in his arms so they're chest to chest and he can properly hug and comfort. Michael just buries his head into Luke's shoulder and tries to calm down, breathing steady as Luke's hands knead into his back. "I don't know what's got you so worked up about this, but I'll tell 'em to knock it off, okay? No more of this."

More than seeing, Luke can feel Michael's nod and nuzzle.

Michael's house may not be unfamiliar to him anymore, but this small, defenseless boy in his arms is.  
  
**o3.** Luke is very, very unfamiliar with tour life. Dangerously unfamiliar. He thought he could maybe prepare himself mentally, but he was absolutely, 100% wrong. They don't even have a huge following just yet, but the amount of girls begging them for their attention is overwhelming.

None of them are exactly used to female attention [the curse of going to school with the same girls year after year], not sure how to take girls telling them they love them. [Luke fucked up the very first show when a girl said that- he answered with an indignant, "you don't know me." She stormed away, crying.] They're especially unsure with the girls who throw themselves [and their underpants] willingly at them, practically begging for a night alone.

Their meet and greets [can they even call them that yet?] go well and they get some numbers from a few of the girls. Nothing wrong with keeping numbers or snapchats or anything, Luke figures. It's not a commitment of any kind. He can choose to keep in contact or he can choose not to. Simple as that.

The shows themselves are actual mad houses. The audience is pumped up, screaming, singing their lyrics back to them. It gives Luke a natural high like nothing he's ever experienced. Standing above a crowd of people who paid _money_ to be here, to see them! That's not something he's going to forget for as long as he lives.

Another thing he won't ever forget is Calum jaunting behind him mid-song, plucking happily at his bass like nothing is amiss. Luke keeps an eye on him as best he can, trying not to fuck up chords or lyrics [though the latter is to be expected]. Once Calum disappears from his sight, he knows something's up. There's a break in the song for just his vocals and that's when he feels the tug.

Despite wearing his pants as tight as he can, they slip down over his small bum and equally tiny thighs. The crowd collectively loses their shit, his voice breaks in the mic, it's just _awful_. He scrambles to get his pants back up, drops his pick, has to pull another one from his pocket and get back to his set up before he's due to play again.

Calum, the little shit, waves at the crowd to keep cheering throughout the rest of the song.

Once they're done and Luke can't hear Ashton's laughter anymore, Calum smirks to him, leans close to the mic, "And _that's_ why we're calling this the Pants Down Tour!"

"I'll get you," Luke promises, though it gets lost in the swell of squeals.

The rest of the show goes smoothly, Luke exacting his perfect revenge against Calum- pulling _his_ pants down past his knees. Calum just shrugs and finishes the song, winking to the crowd. [Luke wonders sometimes if he could learn to emulate Calum- the easy confidence and commanding presence that followed him around. It's magnetising to watch his bandmate interact with their fans. Absolutely stunning.]

Ashton has a whinge about nobody pulling down _his_ pants, to which Michael playfully responds that he doesn't have any on anyway. The crowd is a steady roar by now, and Luke's sure he'll have to swallow a million aspirins to get rid of the humming in his ears.

"We've got one more song for you," Luke announces, grinning to the pouting faces below him. "But it's something special- a song we _love_ to perform. Michael?"

They share a look [Luke's sure Michael winks, but he can't tell with the flash of lights and cameras], Michael tapping against his guitar before going straight into Try Hard. It's one of their most energetic songs so they leave it for last- leave the crowd perpetually begging for more.

Performing gets into Luke's head, makes his knees go weak. As he watches Calum jump off of one of their amps, he feels free. He feels impulsive and mischievous and he makes his way over to Mikey, sharing the mic, leaned in close. He can feel Michael's breath, feel his arm moving as he plays. They're so close Luke can see the flecks of grey in his green eyes. They're feeding off of one another's energy, mirroring one another as if they can read minds.

Luke grins before he can stop himself, pauses in his playing to snake an arm around to the belt of Michael's pants. It wouldn't be fair unless Michael was part of the Pants Down Tour. [And maybe he wants an excuse to touch Michael, find a suitable reason for getting his hands on the spots he desperately wants to explore. Other than just being a dirty pervert.]

But Michael's head whips around, eyes wide and _terrified_. He shakes his head, moves away from Luke's hands, but Luke's knuckle-deep in his waistband and his pants slide down a bit. Ashton yells out for them to get their shit together- Calum is carrying the song by himself.

All that Luke's focused on is that little peek of red lace, cherry-patterned cotton, the look on Michael's face- betrayal and disbelief. As quick as he can, he pulls those tight black jeans back up, trying to forget what he just saw- trying to calm _himself_ down because Michael looks just as good in lace as he imagined a year ago, sitting on his bed.

Luke apologises to the crowd, nudging Michael's shoulder with his own.

Michael knows the apology is really to him.  
  
**o4.** The crowd gets bigger with every show they play. Fans fly in, drive for hours, scream their throats raw, scramble to get the best picture from the front row. It's an ego boost for all of them. Finally, their dream is coming true, unfolding right in front of them.

The biggest crowd they draw in is at the end of the Take Me Home Tour. Luke can't help but just _stare_ at the audience, filled to the brim with girls squealing for Harry or Liam or Zayn or Louis or Niall to notice them [occasionally, he hears a high-pitched yell of his name, but it gets drowned out quickly].

Harry's in the middle of his spiel, thanking everyone, thanking them, and finally, he gets to the introduction of Teenage Dirtbag. They saunter onto the stage, Luke obediently behind Michael. Harry makes a beeline for him, eyes narrowed to predatory slits as he straddles Luke's leg. [Luke's managed to stay away from Harry's charms for most of the tour- not getting caught up in the compliments and seductive touches.] It makes him uncomfortable but flattered all the same- butterflies mixing with the nerves he gets from performing.

Luckily, Harry turns his sights away, staying a good distance away from Luke for the remainder of the song. But when Luke _does_ catch sight of him again, he's next to Michael, bodies moving together as they hit the chorus. Harry _so graciously_ holds the mic out to Michael and Luke's very familiar with that curl of lips.

Once they get close, actually sharing the mic, Luke can feel anger pooling in him. They're almost touching, sharing glances that he hopes the audience can't see. Harry's been after Michael the entire tour, concentrating specifically on the guitarist. [Luke doesn't know if he's been successful yet- hopes and prays that he hasn't because Michael is HIS, goddamnit, even if he doesn't know it yet.]

The anger doesn't go away once the show is over. He hasn't been this angry in a long, long time; it's almost foreign. Really, he's not a mad person- he's pretty easy-going and usually laughs things off, but Harry moving in for the kill with Michael lights him on fire.

Michael's snuggled into Harry's neck, arm around his waist as they move back to the dressing rooms. They reluctantly part, but not before Harry whispers something into Michael's ear. Luke grunts and moves around them, slamming the door to the dressing room behind him.

"What is your problem?" Calum asks, stripping his sweaty shirt and replacing it with one of Luke's non-sweaty ones. No biggie, they share clothes all the time. But Luke is so aggro'd already that he snaps at Calum for it. "Dude, calm down. Whatever's got you, it isn't my shirt."

Calum's right because Calum is always right, but it doesn't make Luke feel any better. It actually makes him feel worse for being such a bitch. It only perpetuates his anger.

Ashton steps in, lacing his fingers with Luke's and asking, "Do you want to go back to the hotel?"

Luke nods and Ashton leads him out, not even hesitating as they pass Harry and Michael still whispering. There's a pink flush to Michael's cheek and Luke feels like murdering someone. But Ashton's palm against his keeps him grounded. [Cancers stick together, forever and always.]

When they get to the hotel, Luke assures his drummer that yes, he's fine; no, he won't drown himself in the shower; no, go enjoy the after party. Ashton is caring, leans in to kiss Luke's forehead before he goes, throwing back a soft, "text me."

After a few minutes of silence, Luke decides enough is enough and to take his mind off of everything, he'll turn to music. Music is his saving grace, the only thing that actually makes sense. The only thing he can turn to to curb his emotions and placate him. Before Ashton, before Calum, and before Michael, he had music. His first love. But it doesn't stop it from hurting. Doesn't stop HIM from hurting.

But before he can settle in, get his earphones properly in, he hears a thump next door. He starts to get up, to see what's wrong [Michael and Calum are sharing the adjoining room- but it's too early for either of them to come back drunk], but a low moan stops him. Every ounce of him freezes, rooted to the spot. No, it's too early for them to be drunk, but not too early for hookups.

It's a jerk move of him, but he presses his ear against the wall, listening to the thumps of what he can only assume are knees hitting the nightstand. A laugh reverberates against the wall and Luke's stomach drops as he recognises that it's Michael. Everything's muffled so Luke has to strain and go off of context clues for certain words but Michael asks if his partner is okay.

"Shut up and get on the bed, Princess," is the response and Luke wants to cry because it's _Harry_. Michael's got _Harry Styles_ in his room, calling him _princess_ , _moaning_ with him.

He doesn't realise he's holding his breath until Michael groans out Harry's name, _begs_ him to touch him. All the times Luke's thought of Michael's voice saying the exact same thing to him, all the nights of the feeling of emptiness, and here it culminates. With _Harry_ in Michael's bed when it should be _Luke_.

"Those knickers look good on you, beautiful," comes Harry's panted growl, "Gonna fuck you real good in 'em."

Luke's stomach knots as he gets a mental image of Michael sprawled out, flushed, painfully hard in black lace. It's wrong, so wrong, but he thinks maybe if he closes his eyes hard enough, wishes hard enough, prays hard enough, maybe he'll swap places with Harry. Maybe he'll be able to be blessed with what he so desperately wants.

As Michael's breathy gasps turn to screams, Luke gives in.

Touring may be familiar now, but wanking it to his best friend getting proper fucked isn't.  
  
**o5.** The feeling of Michael's hair between his fingers is familiar. What's unfamiliar is the tug in Luke's gut when he realises he's touching the same hair Harry Styles touched. The boy beneath him is tainted with the stench of a _boybander_.

He tells himself to get his shit together- it's been a little over three months. He should be over it by now- but it keeps coming up to haunt him. The boys keep bringing it up, keep chatting about how great that tour was, how much fun they had. And there were good times [great times], but all Luke thinks about is That Night.

They have such an amazing opportunity in front of them- they start filming their first "official" video today. Yet Luke can't get his mind off of something that, in the grand scheme of their career, doesn't fucking matter. [Arguably, it matters to him so maybe it's considered a Big Deal. Maybe.]

Michael spits out a disgruntled, "ow" after a particularly hard thread of Luke's fingers. It's a privilege to play with Michael's hair, so Luke smoothes the pads of his fingers along the places he pulled, apologising. He smiles as Michael leans back into his touch, letting out a pleased sound. It hits Luke right in the heart- it's such a similar sound to the ones Harry brought out in him.

Sometimes, he wonders if he'll ever be able to get over it.

"Something up?" Michael leans his head back, looking up at Luke, mouth pulled down into a frown. He looks so innocent, so truly concerned. It makes Luke feel like a right ass. But then he has to remind himself that Michael took it upon himself to lay down with Harry- and he has no right to complain because they're not committed. Michael doesn't even know how he feels.

"Just thinking," Luke says. It's not a lie, really. A lie by omission, maybe.

Michael pulls away from Luke, turning around so he can rest his elbows on Luke's knees, chin on his laced wrists. "I think you know by now that you can't lie to me, Luke."

It's true. They have such a long history [or so it feels]. Luke runs his fingers along Michael's jawline, tracing it up, behind his ears, then into the bleached sides of his hair. He watches as Michael's eyes slip shut, so trusting. Before he can lose the moment, the confidence he's managed to muster, he murmurs, "I love you."

"Love you, too, Luke," Michael laughs simply. They say it a lot, sure. But not like this. Not like Luke _means_ it. Michael answers so readily, so happy to say it again. He pulls a face when Luke shakes his head, unsure how to take his bandmate negating his affection.

"No, I mean like-"

Michael's face slowly changes, realisation sinking in. He looks dumbfounded, confused and scared and something else Luke can't quite place his finger on. It's terrifying to watch in silence as Michael tries to process this new information, this curve ball Luke's unceremoniously thrown at him.

Luke's never had the best timing.

"I," Michael starts, dropping his arms from Luke's knees, moving away as if their skin touching burns him. "I need... time."

"Time?" It's not at all how Luke thought this conversation would go. In his head, of course, it was a fairytale- Michael jumping at the chance to confess that yes, he's in love with Luke, too. Everything would work out perfect, they'd transition from best friends to lovers easily because really, the line is thin already. But no, Michael looks too apologetic, too unsure to chomp at the bit to get Luke in bed.

"Time to reflect, time to- I don't know. This is heavy."

Luke's disappointment turns to anger faster than he can comprehend, so fast it gives him whiplash. [He's never thought of himself as an angry person, but Michael doesn't affect him like normal people do.] He stands quick, causing Michael to fall back onto his hands, their height difference completely out of proportion. Luke feels tall, dominant- feels in control and out of control at the same time. "You obviously didn't need time to fuck Harry, did you, Princess?"

The look on Michael's face should break Luke's heart- should. But he feels utterly and desperately heartless, continues, voice dangerously low, "Why is he so different from me? We're _best friends_."

"What did you just call me?" Michael's voice is barely above a whisper. Talking too loud would cement everything- make it easy to revisit in dark times.

" _Princess_ ," Luke spits, "That's what _he_ called you right?"

"How do you know that?"

Now it's Luke's turn to be embarrassed. "Heard you. In the hotel room. You weren't exactly trying to be quiet, you know."

"You're a dick," Michael spits, finally standing. "You're a dick for throwing that in my face _and_ for springing something on me and getting pissed when it doesn't go your way."

"All you had to say was that you don't feel the same way. What does 'I need time' even mean? If you don't feel it, you don't feel it."

"I don't know what I feel, Luke!" Michael looks hysterical, hurt. " _That's_ what it means. It's not just cut and dry. _Feelings_ aren't games."

Luke stops short of what he's about to say. Michael's right, of course. He's being a bitch about this whole situation but he's _hurt_. And when Luke hurts, he wants everyone else to hurt, too. But he hits a wall because he actually doesn't want _Michael_ hurt.

Michael stomps past him, "We're done discussing this. I don't need you looking down on me for what I do _consensually_ in my bedroom, _with whom I please_. Nor do I need you acting like a fucking child when you're almost eighteen."

"Don't lecture me like you're some high and mighty adult," Luke slams his hand down on the desk. Both of them jump as Luke's pinky ring clangs against the metal. Luke watches as Michael subconsciously rubs his matching ring. That _hurts_.

"We're _done here_ ," Michael repeats, flinging open the hotel door before slamming it shut behind him.

Luke cries, hard and alone, for an hour after that.  
  
**+o1.** It's Luke's 18th birthday. Each of the boys have staked claim on the days leading up to his _actual_ birthday to take him out one-on-one. Ashton took him out to the park they used to escape to when life got to be too much, spreading out a blanket and having a proper picnic. Calum picked him up at his home, walked him to the most expensive restaurant in their town [the one they used to talk about going to and now have the funds to actually enjoy], then took him out for a night of heavy drinking.

Luke's still got a killer headache when Michael knocks tentatively on his door, half hour late for their "date." After their big blow out, it's taken a while to get back to where they were. And even now, it's still awkward. Luke hates it, hates having to sit further away from Michael when it was nothing for them to cuddle. He keeps his distance in interviews, in public, during shows. He's hurt Michael and he feels like shit. He's just thankful that Michael was interested in spending his birthday with him.

"Hey," Luke says quietly as he opens the door. Michael doesn't look any different than any other time Luke's seen him [except for maybe a small line of black around his eyes, which makes Luke's heart leap because the first time Michael wore eyeliner, it was at Luke's urging]. But there IS something different. Maybe in the slant of lips or the blush he's wearing. It makes Luke's stomach knot. "Come on in."

Luke's alone tonight, at his own request since he knew Michael was coming over. He holds his breath, watches as Michael pauses to look back at him before he ascends the stairs. Obediently, Luke follows.

Once they're safe inside Luke's room, Michael finally looks at him. "I never apologised to you."

"You don't need to," Luke is quick to say, catching himself before he reaches out to his bandmate. To the boy he loves.

"I do," Michael murmurs. "When we finally got to a place that was really great, I fucked it up. Because I was scared."

Luke goes to talk, goes to take the burden because _he_ was the one who caught Michael off-guard. _He_ was the one who decided on the worst possible time to confess that he had feelings for Michael.

"No," Michael stops him, "let me finish. I didn't handle the situation properly. Sorry for walking out on you. And for being a right twat for the tours."

Taking advantage of Michael's faint voice, submissive stance, Luke reaches out to take his hand. He threads their fingers together, feeling that jump in his stomach even after all this time. Michael's hands have always been soft, tiny compared to his own, fitting perfectly. He, himself, has always fit perfectly with Luke. There's never been any doubt in Luke's mind. They're made for one another.

"That day, you asked me what the difference between you and Harry was," Michael looks down, turning Luke's hands over in his own, tracing over his palm. "I'm... I'm not in love with Harry."

Luke audibly gasps and they meet eyes. Michael simply shrugs, as if it's the easiest thing in the world to say and yeah, maybe it is. It's taken them so long to get to it, though. Luke feels like he's waited his whole life to hear it. It sounds just as beautiful as he always imagined. When he was young- when THEY were young- he used to lie in his bed, music blaring, trying to take his mind off of Michael. He drowned his feelings in screams, in long runs and swims with Ashton. In his guitar.

"Say it again," Luke requests softly, "Say it right."

Michael moves closer, to where the sides of his hair tickle Luke's cheek. He tilts in and Luke can feel his breath. They're _so close_. "I love you, Luke."

Luke figures his heart explodes at that moment. It feels incredible. "I love you, too."

Michael smiles, really smiles, and then they're kissing.

Kissing Michael is sweet, Luke reckons. It's shy and tentative, much like the beginning of their friendship. It's _right_. So right it takes his breath away. They click, move together without thinking, Michael reaching up to Luke's cheek at the same time Luke grabs the dip in Michael's waist.

Luke allows himself to be lead by Michael to his bed, to be pushed down and straddled. Michael's thighs feel right at home around his own, heated weight pleasant on his lap. It's familiar in a way that Luke is unfamiliar with- their bodies read one another without doubt, moving in a rhythm only they can hear.

Michael's hands flatten on Luke's chest, fingers splayed out over his heart, no doubt feeling his pulse racing. He regards Luke's body beneath him, pausing over the little intricacies as if he's seeing them for the first time. "You scared?"

"Not at all," Luke answers honestly, biting at his lip ring as he smiles. He leans up to kiss Michael again, hands lazily exploring the bum he's so desperately wanted to touch. Finally, he has unlimited access to it. He definitely plans to take advantage of that.

"Good," Michael arches back into Luke's hands, baring his throat for Luke to scrape his teeth against. "Because I am."

Luke stops, lips still brushing against that tender, porcelain skin, says, "Don't be. I'd never hurt you."

Michael pulls away, smiling, fingers brushing across Luke's evening stubble. "I know. I trust you. More than anyone. It means a lot to me if it means a lot to you."

He can't help it- a smile just bursts out of Luke, ingenuous and open. Michael did it on purpose, he knows. And he fondly thinks back to that day, walking in on Michael shaving his legs, the awkward recording of If It Means A Lot To You after that. How they never mentioned it again. How Luke slowly found out that his bandmate has a kink for wearing lacy underwear- getting fucked in panties. He wonders if Michael was wearing any that day, in the loft while they played FIFA and laughed awkwardly.

He wonders if Michael's wearing any now.

"Did you ever want me to find out?" Luke figures now's as good a time as any, hopes Michael will catch on even though he's already opened the discussion. [And selfishly hopes that it was Michael's intent all along to get Luke in bed.]

"No, not really," Michael whispers as he licks along Luke's neck, down across the collarbones peeking out around his singlet. "Was ashamed."

Luke kneads at Michael's ass, groans as he bucks his hips up, searching for some kind of friction as his mind trails to what the beautiful boy in his lap could be hiding under his hands. "Think it's hot," he admits, voice breathy.

Michael laughs, short and choppy, just a puff of air that makes his chest jump, "Good."

"Then does that mean...?" Luke raises an eyebrow, eyes flicking down to where his hands are unashamedly still groping Michael's bum.

"Find out," Michael challenges, lips curling into a smirk that Luke is all-too-familiar with. He used to come face-to-face with that smirk as Michael relentlessly tortured him in school. When he'd fire back a retort that wasn't anywhere near as put-together as Michael's insults. What should make him hurt makes him laugh as he realises how far away they are from who they were. He's about to have sex with Michael Clifford- the Michael Clifford who used to tell him he was a Justin Bieber knock-off who was half as talented.

Luke effortlessly picks Michael up, hands squeezing tight to his arse as he does, and sets him back down onto the bed as gently as he can. As he takes a breath to prepare himself, Michael looks at him- _really_ looks at him. And Luke knows that this is a pivotal moment, one that he's ready for.

Slowly, he undoes the button on Michael's jeans, pauses a moment to push up his shirt. His prize will be so much better if he takes his time. Besides, he wants to take as much time as he can memorising Michael's body with his hands. He runs his fingers along Michael's tummy, up his chest, stopping to pinch at a nipple. Michael squirms beneath him, face drawn up in a way that says "get on with it."

Luke grins because Michael's _so eager_. But this is at Luke's pace- after all, _he's_ the one that's waited all this time. Michael arches for him as Luke strips him of his shirt, wrists coming to rest above his head, fingers wrapping around Luke's headboard. He looks like a meal laid out and Luke is _definitely_ hungry.

"Go on," Michael urges, rocking his hips up, wiggling them, "Find out what's underneath. You're gagging for it."

Luke has half a mind to be offended before he realises that Michael knows him too well, why is he surprised? So he just smiles and grips beltloops and slowly, slowly pulls down Michael's black jeans.

He isn't sure what he expected to find, but black lacy panties _wasn't_ it. But as he pulls Michael's pants further, he sees a garter belt [black with red bows] connecting the panties to thigh-high stockings.

" _Michael_ ," Luke hisses, flinging the jeans behind him, eager to get his hands on Michael's calves, unbelievably smooth under his palm. Michael blushes down to his chest, writhing. Luke makes his way up to the waistband of the undergarment, pulling it down just barely to free Michael's hardening cock, then placing it back tight against him to where it hugs just underneath his head. His mouth goes dry as he takes in his bandmate. His calloused fingertips trace the ribbon of the garter belt, the bows on the tops of the pantyhose.

Michael looks breathtaking in black- just like Luke always imagined.

"Do you know that you look exactly like my fantasies?" Luke bends down, kissing around the ruffle where the garter belt meets the panties. "No, better. So much better. _Real_."

"Stop it," Michael says fondly, letting his eyes slip close as he just _feels_.

Luke hums to his skin, letting his hands trail upward, along the outline of Michael's dick. It earns him a moan and his heart jumps. Michael sounds better without a wall separating them.

His mouth follows his hands and he lets his lips trace along the texture. Michael bucks into him, sucking in a breath through his teeth. Luke palms himself through his jeans before unbuttoning them and adjusting himself. He's so hard it hurts, just from mouthing Michael through the lace.

Luke tongues around the waistband of Michael's panties, over the sensitive head of his cock. Michael's breathless, panting, fists his hand in Luke's hair, holding him in place. Not that Luke minds, of course. He's ready- more ready for this than he's ever been for anything in his whole fucking life.

"Fuck," Michael curses, "Luke, please..."

Slowly, Luke moves the lace aside, frees Michael while still leaving the panties in place. He pumps a few times, settling onto the bed comfortably before taking Michael's cock into his mouth. The noise Michael lets out is so exquisite Luke wishes he was recording it so he could play it back over and over, relive the moment each time.

Michael's beautiful, chokes when Luke presses a finger to the spot just underneath his balls, sliding back along the silky fabric. It brings out a groan of appreciation from Michael, an arch to get closer. Luke happily obliges, pushes along the tight line of lace until he finds the spot that makes Michael buck again.

"If you don't get in me..." Michael pulls at Luke's hair, tugging it up just the way Luke does.

"Sounds like a threat," Luke murmurs to Michael's cock, grinning.

"It is."

Shrugging because _fair enough_ , Luke moves back, crawling across his bed to grab the lube out of his nightstand drawer. This is not at all how he imagined the night would go, but he's pleased with how it's all turning out. He loves Michael more than anything and now, finally, he's allowed to stake his claim.

Luke turns back to the task at hand, slipping up Michael's body to kiss him hard and steady- one hand coming up to lace their fingers. His weight is heavy on Michael's body, holding him down though neither would dare move.

However, Michael _does_ lift up against Luke's hold on him to get his attention, mumbles, "You're too dressed."

Admittedly, Luke has to agree. He sits up, pulling his singlet off, maybe reveling in Michael's hungry gaze on him. It feels like his whole life has lead up to this moment- this one singular event. He can vividly recall all the nights he got himself off to the thought of this. As he takes off his pants, kicking them to the floor, he actually starts to get nervous.

"Don't worry about taking it easy," Michael grins as he pulls Luke back down to him, "I like a little roughhousing."

Luke settles between Michael's legs, sqeezing a copious amount of lube onto his fingers. He nudges Michael's panties aside, watches as he winces a little when he pushes a finger into him. With a few adjustments, he's quickly three fingers deep, up to the knuckles as Michael pants beneath him. He watches, in awe of his best friend, the love of his life. Michael looks so unbelievable, lips pink, parted, eyes closed.

"Ready?" Luke asks, voice hushed, low. Michael's pupils are blown wide as he peers through his lashes, nodding. On unsteady legs, Luke guides himself into Michael's body, letting out a moan as he sinks in to the hilt. Michael is warm, so warm it takes his breath away.

Luke's hands wrap around Michael's legs easily, spreading him lewdly. From this angle, looking down at Michael, Luke has a perfect view of his soft tummy- his favourite part. And Luke thinks he would gladly go deaf after hearing the way Michael groans his name- to keep that sound safe and tarnish-free from all the other, insignificant sounds of life.

Their bodies move together as if they've done this their whole life- as if they're _familiar_ with one another. Luke's heart thumps in his chest, so loud he's positive that Michael can hear it. He can actually feels Michael's heartbeat in his leg, beating against his forefinger and it's simultaneously weird and hot. He's just got Michael's legs in such a tight grip- holding them as he pounds away, fucking into Michael so deep he cries out for more.

Michael's incredibly vocal. He begs Luke to go faster, letting out noises that sound like pained whimpers when Luke obliges. It's so attractive- Luke feels his orgasm building quickly, nothing short of telling himself to get Michael off first stopping him from losing it. So he wraps his fist around Michael's cock, stroking upward slowly, clenching a little as he reaches the tender spot underneath his head. If Michael's groan is anything to go by, he's good to go. He speeds up his pace, trying to time his strokes with his thrusts.

"God, Luke," Michael sighs, running a hand through his damp hair, down over his own chest. "Best lay I've ever had, seriously- _fuck_."

 _Feelings_ , Luke's brain echoes. Feelings make a big difference when it comes to sex. Luke is so in love with Michael he feels it everywhere- it intensifies the warm heat enveloping him. He feels every inch of Michael, every time he shifts or clenches around him. And especially when Michael huffs out a mumbled warning before his whole body spasms, quakes under Luke as he comes.

Michael is beautiful, there's absolutely no way around it. From his intense eyes to his pouty lips, his scrawny chest and pale skin, to the way he talks and his laugh- it's obvious. But Luke's never seen him _this_ breathtaking. His passion on stage pales in comparison to the passion in him now. Just watching him, Luke's thrusts falter- he pulls out in enough time to stroke himself over the edge, marking his territory in the only way he can now.

"You're so gross," Michael laughs, eyes half-lidded as he watches Luke come down, running a hand through that droopy quiff. His lower half is covered in come, sticky and wet and he doesn't mind.

Luke just grins up to him, biting at his lip ring shyly. "You look good, though."

"Shut up and cuddle," Michael pulls his lover up to him, taking a second to wriggle out of his soiled undergarments. [If he gets jizz on the floor well so be it. It's Luke's fault anyway.]

As Luke scrambles up behind Michael, he gets shoved in the shoulder. The only explanation Michael gives is a tired, "'M the big spoon." Fair enough, Luke decides, smiling as he feels Michael's knees nudge between his own.

The weight of Michael's arm around his waist, the puffs of breath against his temple, allows Luke to _finally_ relax. It seems like ages since his muscles have felt so loose, since his body has been able to get this comfortable. It reminds him of the days spent lounging around Michael's house, eyes too heavy to keep open, throats scratched raw from singing. He can't believe it's been that long since he's been able to _really_ sleep.

All the worrying and fussing over his feelings for Michael have been put to rest. And he doesn't have to worry about waking up alone, finding the bed cold next to him like all those nights Michael escaped to that little spot on his roof [the one he didn't think Luke knew about] to smoke or reflect or whatever. They'll be better. No more awkward silences, no more distant glances nor wondering if there could ever be something _more_. He hates to think that having sex has cured them, but it's like a catalyst, he supposes. Now that it's out of the way, however, they can go back to repairing their romantic relationship _and_ their platonic relationship.

Luke runs his fingers over the ring on Michael's pinky- the ring he gifted him during the Take Me Home Tour before the shitstorm went down. His own ring _clink_ s gently against it and he grins into the pillow.

It's been a long time, so many ups and downs between them, but Luke wouldn't have it any other way. Michael's his home. Michael's _familiar_. And he couldn't imagine it any other way.


End file.
